Austen Said:

the situation of one, and the language of the other, so unfit to be expressed by any woman of modesty,

her cousins could be aware of what they were engaging in;

longed to have them roused as soon as possible by the remonstrance which Edmund would certainly make.

"Me!"

"Indeed you must excuse me. I could not act anything if you were to give me the world. No, indeed, I cannot act."

"It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart,"

"but I really cannot act."

"No, indeed, Mr. Bertram, you must excuse me. You cannot have an idea. It would be absolutely impossible for me. If I were to undertake it, I should only disappoint you."

"You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me,"

Miss Crawford had protected her only for the time; and if she were applied to again among themselves with all the authoritative urgency that Tom and Maria were capable of, and Edmund perhaps away, what should she do?

Everything was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been sometimes much of suffering to her; though her motives had often been misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension undervalued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory:

her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encouraging, or, what was yet more frequent or more dear, Edmund had been her champion and her friend: he had supported her cause or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of affection which made her tears delightful; and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonised by distance, that every former affliction had its charm.

Was she right in refusing what was so warmly asked, so strongly wished for— what might be so essential to a scheme on which some of those to whom she owed the greatest complaisance had set their hearts? Was it not ill-nature, selfishness, and a fear of exposing herself? And would Edmund's judgment, would his persuasion of Sir Thomas's disapprobation of the whole, be enough to justify her in a determined denial in spite of all the rest?

"Come in"

"Yes, certainly."

"My opinion!"

"Yes; but what can be done? Your brother is so determined."

"No,"

"not immediately, but ——"

"I am sorry for Miss Crawford; but I am more sorry to see you drawn in to do what you had resolved against, and what you are known to think will be disagreeable to my uncle. It will be such a triumph to the others!"

"Yes, it will be a great point."

"No, I cannot think of anything else."

"Oh, cousin!"

"No doubt she will be very glad. It must be a great relief to her,"

"She was very kind, indeed, and I am glad to have her spared"...

To be acting! After all his objections— objections so just and so public! After all that she had heard him say, and seen him look, and known him to be feeling. Could it be possible? Edmund so inconsistent! Was he not deceiving himself? Was he not wrong? Alas! it was all Miss Crawford's doing.

Things should take their course; she cared not how it ended. Her cousins might attack, but could hardly tease her. She was beyond their reach; and if at last obliged to yield— no matter —it was all misery now.

for it was Miss Crawford to whom she was obliged— it was Miss Crawford whose kind exertions were to excite her gratitude, and whose merit in making them was spoken of with a glow of admiration. She was safe; but peace and safety were unconnected here.

anything would have been preferable to this. Mrs. Grant was of consequence: her good-nature had honourable mention; her taste and her time were considered; her presence was wanted; she was sought for, and attended, and praised;

she received even the greatest,

she could never have been easy in joining a scheme which, considering only her uncle, she must condemn altogether.

Everybody had a part either too long or too short; nobody would attend as they ought; nobody would remember on which side they were to come in; nobody but the complainer would observe any directions.

"I believe,"

"there will be three acts rehearsed to-morrow evening, and that will give you an opportunity of seeing all the actors at once."

"Have I? I will do my best with the greatest readiness; but I must read the part, for I can say very little of it."

she could not, would not, dared not attempt it:

to believe their performance would, indeed, have such nature and feeling in it as must ensure their credit, and make it a very suffering exhibition to herself.

Whatever might be its effect, however, she must stand the brunt of it again that very day.

Why was not Miss Crawford to be applied to as well? Or why had not she rather gone to her own room, as she had felt to be safest, instead of attending the rehearsal at all? She had known it would irritate and distress her; she had known it her duty to keep away. She was properly punished.

She would do her best.

He had never been so kind, so very kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all that had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness.

"Oh, not to him! Look so to all the others, but not to him!"

"Do you think so?"

"in my opinion, my uncle would not like any addition. I think he values the very quietness you speak of, and that the repose of his own family circle is all he wants. And it does not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be —I mean before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can recollect, it was always much the same. There was never much laughing in his presence; or, if there is any difference, it is not more, I think, than such an absence has a tendency to produce at first. There must be a sort of shyness; but I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry, except when my uncle was in town. No young people's are, I suppose, when those they look up to are at home".

"I suppose I am graver than other people,"

"The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. It entertains me more than many other things have done; but then I am unlike other people, I dare say."

"Oh! don't talk so, don't talk so,"

"But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?"

"And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like— I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to feel."

"She must know herself too secure of the regard of all the rest of you,"